


between the sand and the stardust

by ohmytomatosoup



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Abuse, Aftermath of Torture, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Has Nightmares, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Fluff and Angst, Gay Bucky Barnes, Gentle Kissing, Hydra did a number on Bucky, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kissing, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Protective Steve Rogers, Psychological Torture, Violence, i don't even know what this is, steve comforts bucky when he has nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:00:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23446645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmytomatosoup/pseuds/ohmytomatosoup
Summary: bucky has nightmares and steve helps. a bunch of angst with a lil bit of fluff at the end. inspired (kind of) by Stardust by Lang Leav.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 5
Kudos: 38





	between the sand and the stardust

**as·set**

/ˈaset/

_noun_

1\. a useful or valuable thing, person, or quality.

\--

When the soldier wakes up, he can’t feel his left arm. For a second he thinks he is back in the snow again, the train curving away from him, blood billowing around his shoulders like angels’ wings. He thinks he is back at the beginning, has come full circle.

But no, he’s in solitary. The cell is freezing and Soldier’s breath, rattled and shaking, mists in the air. His hands are bolted to the ground in metal hubs, his mechanical arm hanging limp and unfeeling, cold and silent.

He remembers then, remembers everything he did. In a haze, he recalls running— out into the endless snow, firing the gun at anything that moved, he remembers needing to _get away, run away, be free_ —

Soldier’s chest pricks with some kind of emotion. He tilts his head up so it leans against the cold stone, and he sighs. With every breath, his life returns to him— in fragments, pieces. It always hurts when the memories come back, but in a way it’s refreshing. Soldier knows what is right, what is wrong, and what is Bucky and what is HYDRA.

Then with a tiny click, the metal door is pushed open. He comes in, the man— Alexander Pierce. His suit is impeccable, not a fleck of dirt on it. Soldier— no, _Bucky_ , he’s _Bucky_ — exhales again, the emotion in his chest rising, plunging, an ocean, all his own.

“Look at me.” Pierce says, in English. Bucky lifts his head, stares at the corner. He cannot meet Pierce’s gaze.

He feels Pierce’s backhand before it even makes contact.

“You will comply with orders you are given,” Pierce says. “Is that clear?”

Bucky dips his head. Another slap meets the nod. Bucky’s cheek feels like fire.

“You will respond verbally when you are asked a question.”

“Yes,” Bucky croaks. He lifts his head to meet Pierce’s eyes.

Pierce gestures for Bucky’s bonds to be released. An assistant comes, looking scared out of his mind; he’s small, a kid really. Bucky’s stomach twists intensely. Just a goddamn baby.

Bucky’s free and now he’s in a kneeling position, his hair oily and tangled around his face. His metal arm, hanging limp, hurts like hell; it pulls at his skin.

“Stand.”

Bucky does.

“You aborted your mission without instruction to do so,” Pierce begins pacing the room. “That is intolerable. You broke containment and terminated several good personnel. That is also intolerable. Do you understand?”

A pause. Then, “yes.”

“Then you understand, as well, that your actions have the ability to shape the future; they have before. HYDRA will not be on the wrong side of history. By failing to comply, you not only compromise yourself and the rest of HYDRA’s work, but you also delay this world’s freedom.”

Bucky wants to scream. He wants to scream all the words that are built up in his head, he wants to live, he wants to remember— but there’s a block in his throat. He can’t speak, he can only feel the cold, all around, and everything is cold, and he wants to fall and break but—

“Soldier—“

And the it spills over then, every memory; he sees a blond man laugh through a blurry lens— and he knows him.

His name is Steve.

He sees him with charcoal streaked across his face and his hands, sketching with his overlarge coat wrapped around his chest.

He sees him with a scrawny cat in his arms, his wool sweater tucked up over his chin.

And then he sees him against the rough pillows of their couch, and he feels his face flush, his stomach burn with a fierce kind of emotion he can’t quite place. Soldier’s breath catches.

“Soldier, you—“ Pierce begins.

And then the memories condense into four weighted words: “My name is Bucky.”

Pierce reacts quickly. He delivers two swift, hard kicks to Bucky’s knees, causing them to buckle. Bucky falls to the ground. Then Pierce sighs, and, as if this predicament genuinely pains him, says, “Bring him out. Follow me.”

And Bucky knows the hurt is coming, but he is not ready, he is never ready. He lets himself be dragged out by the guards, and feels emotion bubble up and drip; tears out of his eyes, and he’s sobbing, quietly and deeply felt.

And when they strap him down, his flesh arm is freezing cold, and he finds that he’s pleading, he’s screaming _no, no, please, i want to remember, please_ —

And it feels like fucking lightning, and he must be burning, he must—

Bucky is choking; a scream blooming and dying in his throat. He staggers out of bed, dripping in a cold sweat. He runs to the locked door of his room and fiddles with the knob for a second, before slamming his entire body against it, over and over, but the sleek wood doesn’t give. He wants to run. His throat constricts and he feels like he can’t breathe. He wants to run.

Instead, he sags against the wall, his hand limp on the doorknob. Numbly, he remembers asking Tony to lock it every night. If Bucky had gotten out, who knows what would have happened. The mere thought of it feels like a punch to the gut.

He’d been wrong, when he thought it was better to remember. The lucidity is worse.

The door clicks from the outside. Bucky scrambles back, his mind still reeling from his nightmare. The silhouette of a well-built man is framed against the dim light of the outside hallway.

“Buck,” Steve says, “I thought I heard you— are you okay?”

Bucky stands up. Shakes his hair out of his eyes. “Why are you here?”

Steve walks towards him. Bucky draws away. Steve’s face contracts a little in hurt. “Hey,” he says. “You can talk to me.”

Bucky shakes his head. “Just a nightmare.”

“Bad?”

Bucky nods. Steve comes closer. This time, Bucky doesn’t move away. He stays rooted to the spot, clear, azure eyes locked in Steve’s dark blue ones. Steve is close enough for Bucky to feel his breathing, in and out in and out. Wordlessly, he lifts his metal hand, cups Steve’s cheek.

And kisses him.

**Author's Note:**

> well, that was my spur-of-a-whim, self-indulgent one-shot. thanks for reading, i really hoped you liked it. i've been wanting to write a stucky fic for so long and i'm not sure how i feel about this one, but there you go. if it does well i might add more parts :)


End file.
